


Plunge

by AngelofDarkness1605



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 19:52:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3086690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelofDarkness1605/pseuds/AngelofDarkness1605
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mr. Gold couldn't care less about about Miss French's latest attempt to raise money to fund the library... or at least, until the soaked and freezing librarian requires assistance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plunge

"This is truly the stupidest thing I've ever seen in this town," Mr. Gold says disdainfully, watching with unconcealed distaste how dozens of residents of Storybrooke rush cheerfully into the cold ocean on this chilly Saturday in January.

"Don't say that, papa," his boy says, tugging at his hand in disapproval. "It's to raise money to keep the library open."

"I've always said that it's a fool's errand to reopen the library in the first place, especially with Mayor Mills seeming so very keen to keep it closed.  _She_ is the one who is charging rent over that particular building, not me."

"I've tried to help," his son says in a small voice. "I've saved up my entire allowance for four months, but Miss French would only take ten dollars of it."

"I didn't know that," Mr. Gold mutters, both unaware of his son's intentions to support the library where he admittedly spends a lot of time, and of Miss French's unexpected refusal to take the majority of the money a young boy offered her.

"Luckily she did let me sponsor her to jump into the sea today," Neal says happily.

Breaking his gaze away from the unruly group of people who run into the water while screaming loudly, Mr. Gold looks with pride at his twelve year old son.

With a sudden curiosity for the librarian whom he doesn't know just like he practically doesn't know anyone in town, he seeks her out in the water, finding her in a group of shrieking young women standing up to their waist in the ocean.

He shivers vicariously when she dives into an oncoming wave, the only one of the entire group to go under completely in the freezing water.

"I wanted to do the plunge myself, but you wouldn't let me," his son adds, looking at him accusingly.

"You're too young for this, Neal."

" _You_ are not too young."

"I'm too old for this nonsense," he brusquely says.

"You've got money, though," his boy says stubbornly. "Lots of it. I bet you could help out Miss French with a snap of your fingers if you wanted to."

"That's not how the world works," Mr. Gold says firmly but quietly. They may be on the very edge of the crowd of onlookers, but they're in definite earshot.

He is grateful for the distraction provided by the soaked individuals who are returning to the beach, laughing and shouting... although it isn't so welcome any longer when one of them bumps into him.

"Mind your step," the landlord growls, angrily wiping at the spot of salt water that the person left on his shoulder when colliding with him.

"I'm s-sorry," the person mutters, not looking at them.

"Miss French, are you all right?" Neal cries out.

Only then Mr. Gold realizes that the tiny woman wearing nothing but a bright yellow bikini and messy, thoroughly soaked curls is in fact the very librarian which his son and he were talking about.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm f-f-fine," she replies, her head bowed. "I'm just looking for my s-stuff."

The woman is shaking, her arms wrapped around her providing no solace whatsoever on this cold winter day. He can practically hear her teeth clattering. Not daring to imagine just how very cold she must be, the landlord becomes aware only then how low the temperature actually is, how very harsh the wind.

Without giving it a second thought, he shrugs out of his coat before his son's suggestion to do so registers in his mind.

"Here you go, Miss French," he says, urgently wrapping the thick fabric around her.

"T-thank you," she mutters, still not looking at them.

Ignoring how strange it is to see her wrapped up in his coat like this, she appears to fare only slightly better now that she's covered from head to toe in a very protective layer. She's swaying at the spot, her legs seeming to be at the verge of giving out.

"You've got to hold her," Neal says intently.

There's no questioning the suggestion, nor can he deny the accuracy of it, when the librarian falls forward, all but stumbling into his arms.

With his son's help, he manages to keep the two of them upright, intuitively wrapping his arm around her waist to support her weight.

"Miss French, you're hypothermic," he says, managing to turn the two of them around in such a way that his back is towards the wind, sheltering her as much as he can with his own body. "You probably need medical assistance. I've seen Dr. Whale around, you should let him take a look at you."

"Really, I'm fine," she mutters into the fabric of his suit jacket. "I'm feeling much better already."

Mr. Gold is torn for a moment. She should be under the care of a medical professional, but Whale is hardly that... he obviously didn't see her stumble around on the beach earlier, probably having been too busy ogling all those women in their drenched swim-clothes.

"Neal, try to find Miss French's belongings. We're going to take care of her ourselves for now. Keep an eye on Dr. Whale if you see him, so we know exactly where he is if we do require his assistance."

His son doesn't need to be told twice, running off in the dispersing crowd the second he has stopped speaking. That leaves him with two armfuls of quivering librarian, clinging to him like he is anyone other than the most feared man in town.

"We have to be certain that you really are recovering and not slipping into unconsciousness," he says, her wet curls right beneath his nose. "Why don't you tell me why you came up with such an inane plan?"

What follows is a surprisingly lucid narration that guides him from her love for books and reading to her ambition of education and preservation, revealing in the process just how much Mayor Mills has worked against her each step of the way since she reopened the library almost a year ago.

Something like sincere admiration for the librarian welling up inside of him, Mr. Gold becomes only more focused on her physical state. She gradually becomes able to carry her own weight, but he keeps rubbing her back just in case, for some reason grateful when she remains standing very closely to him, sharing the warmth that suddenly starts to rise from somewhere within him.

Neal returns at some point, handing him a towel from Miss French's backpack and telling him that Dr. Whale is on the other side of the beach, talking to Ruby and Ashley.

By now convinced that they indeed won't need the distracted doctor's help, the landlord clumsily starts to dry the librarian's hair, making certain that she keeps almost entirely covered up in his coat.

The task of drying the hair of anyone who is not his son or himself becomes yet more difficult when Miss French for some reason snuggles into him, locking her arms around his waist and pulling herself flush against him.

Noting the rise of her body temperature and the limited extent to which she is still shivering, and very much aware of Neal's expression gradually shifting from concern to amusement, the landlord becomes increasingly badly at ease with the way she is still holding him.

"Miss French," he says, awkwardly tapping on her shoulder, "it seems that you are feeling a lot better."

"I do, yeah," she says, sounding strangely content.

"Do you suppose you could stand without assistance?"

"I suppose so, yeah," she says, making no move whatsoever to actually do so.

"Miss French, do you have any idea who I am?"

"Not in the slightest," she says happily. "Your voice sounds familiar, but I can't quite place it. I  _do_ know however that it feels wonderful to be held by you."

He goes completely still, not in a million years having expected to hear anything like  _this._

The librarian finally withdraws from him after all, as if startled by his sudden stillness.

"Mr. Gold!" she exclaims in amazement.

It hardly seems possible that she didn't know that  _he_ was the one helped her warm up, but the surprise in her eyes is genuine.

"Miss French," he says, slightly bowing his head in a more proper greeting, fully expecting her to get away from him as quickly as she can now that she has finally realized that she unknowingly sought help in the arms of the most disliked man in town.

"Mr. Gold," she says again, beaming at him as if he's anyone other than the infamous landlord. "And hello, Neal. I thought I heard your voice, but I was a bit out of it, as you may have noticed."

She smiles sheepishly at them from between the layers of his coat she's still wearing, and he can't help but think that she looks rather lovely, all things considered.

"Thank you so much for your assistance, Mr. Gold. I'm very sorry for bothering you like this," she says, not seeming to be in a hurry at all to get away from him. "I hope you accept my apologies for all of this. You too, Neal."

"It wasn't... it really was no trouble at all," he finds himself saying, the fact that he does so surprising him almost just as much as the sincerity in his voice. "I'm just glad that Neal and I could help. I hope you'll be completely recovered soon."

"I'm sure I will be," she says, nodding. "I guess I'll be on my way, then."

"Take a long, hot bath, drink something warm and then go straight to bed," he advises, finding himself stalling for some reason, as if a part of him wishes that they wouldn't have to part ways just yet.

"I'm afraid that taking a bath is out of the question, and so is taking a long _and_ hot shower, or having a nicely warm apartment for that matter. But it'll be all right. I'll just take a very quick shower and wear three sweatshirts to bed."

Realizing that the problems she described with regards to the library probably extend to her apartment right above it, Mr. Gold decides to have a talk with Regina about the quality of government owned real estate very soon... and to address the other points the librarian brought up while he's at it.

"You'd better come with us," Neal suddenly chimes in, grasping his father's hand again. "We've got a big fireplace and we never run out of warm water."

"That's very kind of you," she says, kneeling down in front of his son and affectionately ruffling his hair. "But I don't think your father appreciates it if I take advantage of his facilities like that."

Mr. Gold snorts inwardly. Of all the reasons he has ever heard that Neal's friends or acquaintances don't want to come over, this certainly is the most original one.

"We've got a bubble bath!" his boy adds, as if he hasn't heard her response at all.

"Don't worry about me, I'll be perfectly all right," she replies, standing up and looking apologetically at Mr. Gold. "I'll see you next Wednesday at the library, Neal. If I remember correctly, it's your turn to choose the story that I read this time. You can ask your father if he'd like to come too. Parents are very welcome at the book club, after all."

Upon hearing those words, the landlord finds himself overcome with a strange craving of sorts, to accompany his son to the library and, most importantly, to listen to Miss French reading a story aloud.

"Papa makes the best cocoa in the world!" Neal stubbornly says, as if determined to go on listing reasons why she should come home with them until his father stops him, like he clearly expects.

Yet more than usual, the landlord is proud, if not slightly despairing, of the big heart and loyalty of his son. Really, the boy deserves a better and considerably less loathed father than him.

In contrast, the undefinable way that her flushed cheeks and bright eyes make him feel is far from normal. Although he isn't wearing his overcoat, he still is oddly warm.

"My house  _is_ considerably closer from here than your apartment is," Mr. Gold adds purposefully, very much aware that the eyes of both people in front of him widen at the implicit invitation.

"I... I really appreciate the offer, but I don't want to be a bother. Not more than I've already been, at least."

"Really, it wouldn't be a bother, Miss French. As you can see, Neal would be thrilled if you'd come over."

_And so would I._

Although he sincerely wants her to, he doesn't truly expect her to accept the invitation, not with  _him_ living at the house she's asked to visit.

"I would love to get properly warm, and I can't stop thinking about the fireplace and bath Neal mentioned," she admits, smiling only wider at the two of them. "Really, if it wouldn't be a problem..."

"It really wouldn't be," his son says quickly, all but jumping up and down in excitement.

The landlord nods in confirmation, with considerable guilt realizing that she would be the very first person which Neal is fond of to visit their house – and really, the only visitor they ever got.

"Well, in that case..." she says, beaming at both of them, "lead the way!"

With the librarian still wrapped up in his coat and with Neal carrying her belongings, they head to his house over the by now deserted beach. When she doesn't object to his unspoken offer to support her, he tentatively wraps his arm around her waist once more, holding her lightly against him when they walk.

To his secret delight, Miss French puts her arm around his back as well, her hand coming to rest above his hip. On the other side of her, his son takes her hand in his, swinging their joined hands enthusiastically.

If he didn't know any better, Mr. Gold would immediately think that they're... well, a  _family_.

"Miss French, just how much money do you need in order to keep the library open?" he asks quietly as they make their way through the sand.

"With the more than seven hundred dollars raised today taken into account, still almost fifteen thousand dollars," she sighs, her shoulders visibly sagging despite the thick coat wrapped around them.

"Try not to worry about it for now," he mutters, mentally already writing a check for twenty grand – anonymously, of course.

"I don't think I will," she says, smiling at both him and his son. Really, Mr. Gold has never seen anyone who  _smiles_ this much – especially not right after almost freezing, and certainly not at  _him._ "I can't wait to get to know the two of you better... and I've got to admit that I'm rather curious about your house."

"Don't ever say that our house is pink," Neal stage-whispers knowingly. "Papa doesn't like that. He says it's  _salmon_."

"Does he now?" Belle asks with mock solemnness, her smile widening.

"I was just thinking," his son goes on, already moving on to the next topic, "that the arm chair in front of the fireplace is just big enough for you and papa. The two of you could sit there together by the fire once you have warmed up, so you won't get cold again."

"I don't think Miss French would appreciate that," Mr. Gold says, slightly harsher than he intended. If he didn't know any better, he'd almost think that his son is trying to act as a matchmaker for the librarian and him.

"I think I  _would_  appreciate it," she says, bestowing a yet more radiant smile on him and him alone, playfully tickling his side in a way that has something deep inside of him fluttering.

"Well then, let's move along," he manages to say, finding that his feet have already found a quicker rhythm.

Rarely Mr. Gold has been more eager to get back home. After all, he's got a check to write and the company of his son and a wonderful woman to enjoy.


End file.
